


Love Bites [And So Do I]

by kikowest



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Awkward Romance, Blood and Violence, Dark Comedy, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Full Moon, Gen, Race Against Time, Secret Organizations, Teen Wolf Meets MiB, Werewolves, mild horror elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 09:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikowest/pseuds/kikowest
Summary: Zoisite is a member of a global secret organization that is tasked to keep supernatural citizens safe and separate from their non-supernatural counterparts. When one of their own kills another agent and flees, Zoisite is assigned to be part of the operation to hunt him down to stand trial.  Small problem, though! It's getting close to the autumnal full moon festival when the veil is thin and the supernatural rules the streets. Knowing the rogue agent will use this time of chaos to escape, can they catch him before it's too late? It’s MiB meets Teen Wolf with werewolf (and witchy) Senshi!





	Love Bites [And So Do I]

**Author's Note:**

> Originally started for the Senshi & Shitennou Mini Bang, but unfortunately I had to pull out early. :( Downside: That sucks. Upside: I can begin to post this story NOW, and hopefully complete it at a more leisurely pace.

The coffee tasted like burnt rubber and each mouthful was almost more bean grounds than liquid. Zoisite drank it anyway, trying to sip carefully so most of the grit got caught on the edge of the styrofoam cup. He didn’t even like coffee, but he needed it. The flight from London to Tokyo had been long and brutal. He’d barely been able to drop his bags at his new, company owned apartment before bumbling his way through the train system. It had taken longer than he was willing to admit. Kanji might as well have been hieroglyphs as far as his jetlagged brain was concerned, and it wasn’t like his Japanese was all that great to begin with. 

That’s probably why it took Zoisite a moment to realize someone was trying to get his attention. He’d been waiting at the front office, shifting uncomfortably in a plastic chair that was just a smidge too small, for what felt like hours. The background chatter of the Japanese desk workers had faded into a pleasant white noise. So, it wasn’t until the second question that he actually looked up, choking a little on his gritty coffee.

“Has anyone briefed you yet?” asked the man. 

“Ahhh… No?” Zoisite offered unhelpfully.

He was tall -- tall enough that Zoisite felt like a child sitting on that plastic chair with his knees practically to his chin -- and he was dressed more like one of the front end office workers than an agent. The impeccable way his button down shirt and slacks fit, the shine of his shoes, how he carefully removed and folded his reading glasses with practiced precision, made Zoisite feel sloppy in his day-old shirt and jeans and worn out jacket. 

The man’s badge, which was clipped neatly to his shirt pocket, read “KUNZITE.” It seemed fitting, since his shirt was a light, smokey pink like the stone he was named for. Zoisite had always thought it was stupid that agents went by code names -- especially geological code names -- but this guy looked like he’d come out of the womb with that name branded on his backside. 

Kunzite stared down at him, clearly not impressed. Zoisite tried hard to place his rank. He was obviously a foreigner -- possibly Middle Eastern or North African -- but his hair was a shocking shade of pearly white, and he was handsome in a way that made his age seem ambiguous. Usually the older, more experienced agents took on less dangerous, sedentary promotions. It was too difficult to tell with Kunzite, though.

Erring on the side of caution, Zoisite stood and made the customary bow he’d been giving since he’d touched ground. It seemed to only mildly please Kunzite.

“I apologize. Someone was sent to collect you, but it seems they might have been waylaid,” said Kunzite. His tone suggested that he was, in fact, not sorry, but whoever it was that he’d originally tasked with retrieving him was certainly going to be. “Come with me.”

Kunzite turned on his heel and showed no indication that he was making sure Zoisite was following him. Scrambling, Zoisite threw his half-drunk coffee in the nearest trash can, grabbed his satchel, and rushed to keep up. 

“What did you say your name was, again?” asked Kunzite suddenly. He didn’t slow down or even look at Zoisite. He walked them past cubicles and little office nooks. Some had glass walls, showing agents going about their day. He didn’t pay them any attention, either. Kunzite kept his eyes straight ahead, past the door that led them into a long hallway with plaques denoting the men’s bathroom and storage closets.

“Zoisite.” Then he added for good measure, “Sir.” 

“Ah,” said Kunzite.

And that was all he got until they reached the end of the hall. A nondescript, beige door sat between a men’s bathroom and a water fountain. Kunzite reached into his pocket for a set of keys, thumbing through them with a kind of efficiency that suggested this was something he did a lot -- open unmarked doors. It swung inward with the faintest protest.

The lights were already on in the room. It was small and boxy, with a large whiteboard in the back and taped bits of paper here and there like they were building a pinata. Zoisite followed Kunzite as he stepped in, and just barely managed not to tread on his heels when he came to an abrupt stop.

“How’d you get in here, Jadeite?” Kunzite asked the man sitting at the brown formica table. 

The other agent shrugged, his hands open in a peace offering. The smirk on his face was less than peaceful, though. 

“It’s my case,” said Jadeite. “I’m on time, aren’t I?”

He made a dramatic show of checking his watch. It made Zoisite chuckle, which he tried to swallow and turn into a modest cough. Kunzite’s lips were pressed together like the only thing keeping Jadeite safe from a verbal lambasting was one tiny shred of willpower and a faint sheen of chapstick.

“I thought I told you to bring the new recruit,” Kunzite responded, just barely on the edge of a snap. He was reserving his energy for later.

Jadeite regarded Zoisite for a moment. Like Kunzite, he didn’t seem very impressed. Zoisite returned the sentiment -- mouth neutral and eyebrows turned down in a concerned, somewhat pitying expression. It made Jadeite pause before shoving back a chair, the same flimsy plastic ones from the front office, and gestured for Zoisite to sit.

“Seems like he made it here okay,” said Jadeite.

Kunzite chose not to respond. It was probably for the best. The way he sat and clutched one of the hefty manila folders left on the table said he wished it were Jadeite’s throat. Zoisite made sure to angle his chair just far enough away that he wouldn’t become a casualty of friendly fire.

“Have you had time to review the documents we sent you?” Kunzite asked Zoisite. 

“Uh. Not so far,” Zoisite replied. He dug around in his bag for the stack of paper that’d been thrust into his hands right before he walked out the door to head to the airport. “I literally got the call and was on a plane in a hour.”

“It’s a very long flight.” This would have sounded like sympathy if not for the judgemental way Kunzite slid his reading glasses back up his long, regal nose. 

“Yes, it was,” Zoisite said -- deadpan.  _ You try reading classified documents when you’re stuck between a nattering grandmother and some toddler who’s having a tanty _ . “I apologize about being a wee bit behind, but I’d assume I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need my help. If someone could fill me in…”

“Japanese okay still? Or would you prefer this meeting in English…” Jadeite asked.

“Japanese is fine,” said Zoisite. He was suddenly aware of how awkward the words felt in his mouth. “I’m not fluent, but I can follow. I’ll need to practice if I’m supposed to speak to the locals, anyway.”

Jadeite seemed happy to oblige. He began talking rapid fire, opening the folder closest to him and sliding it across the table. Zoisite slapped a hand down on it, like maybe it’d anchor him enough to keep up.

“I’m assuming your office didn’t even give you a summary, so we’ll start from the beginning,” said Jadeite. “You’ll notice we’re in a shitty back room. That’s because what’s said in here, stays here. There’s only three of us on this taskforce, and there’s been some heavy pushback about adding any more. The bigwigs are really hawking a narrative and don’t want it fucked up.” 

“You’ll be given clearance to access the evidence room and a key to this office,” Kunzite added. He didn’t look up from the pad of paper he was writing notes on. “I trust you won’t lose it.”

Jadeite tapped the official portrait clipped to the left side of the folder to bring the attention back to him. G.O.P.E.A. was unhelpfully watermarked across half the picture, obscuring the agent’s face. The Global Occult and Paranormal Enforcement Agency.  _ What a right cock-up of a name _ , Zoisite thought. His old partner, Slate, had always called it “Go Pee.” As in: “Where’re you off to?” “Gotta Go Pee.” And then he’d grab his crotch and they’d laugh uproariously.

Zoisite felt that Kunzite would probably not have appreciated that bit of humor, so he kept it to himself and tried to look more engaged.

“Simply speaking, we’re on a search and recover mission. This is who we’re looking for,” said Jadeite.

“Another agent?” asked Zoisite.

It was hard to notice any distinguishing features from the photo. He was clearly Japanese. They never allowed you to smile for the ID cards, so mostly he looked dour and faded. Zoisite felt like he could relate. 

“Pyrite. Been an agent for a little over a decade. A good one, too,” Jadeite explained. He rubbed at his nose. “Disappeared couple odd weeks ago.”

Zoisite turned the file so he could study the front sheet a little more carefully. It was the usual information, though most of it was redacted. Birth Name: [Redacted]. Name: Pyrite. Birth Date: [Redacted]. And so on. Redacted, redacted, redacted. He sighed from deep down in his diaphragm. He hated these cases. Half the battle was dealing with bureaucracy, and not the supposedly blood thirsty paranormal entities they monitored like glorified babysitters. It wasn’t his cup of tea. 

He was starting to wonder why he was even called here.

“If this is a search and rescue, I’m not sure I’m the best man for the job,” said Zoisite. He weighed the words carefully on his tongue, not wanting to insult Kunzite or Jadeite. Someone had requested him specifically. He knew that. He just wasn’t sure who.

“It’s not a rescue. It’s a recovery,” Jadeite repeated. “To stand trial.”

Zoisite felt the little hairs on his neck stand on end. He couldn’t remember a time he’d seen an agent stand trial. His older partners would talk about the rare ones they’d witnessed back in their youth, when the agency was being reorganized, and they always sounded more like an execution than justice. He touched the edge of the photo again, staring into Pyrite’s emotionless eyes. 

“I think I’ll need to know why,” said Zoisite, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “And, unless his crime is simply having a terrible haircut, I’m still not sure how I’ll be of much use. I’m not a P.I. I don’t sit around on the sidelines doing research. I’m a field agent who specializes in--”

“Alchemy, ceremonial magic and druidism, western cryptozoology and, of course, lycanthropy,” interrupted Kunzite. He finished the sentence he was writing with a strong downward stroke. “Yes. We know.” 

“I’ve read your file. I was impressed with how you helped control the werewolf boom in Budapest, and the hybrids in London. You’ve been to the Americas and the Balkans… They told me that you’ve even spent a little time here in Hokkaido with the Ainu,” said Jadeite. “It’s rare for an agent to specialize the way you have. Or that’s what they tell me, anyway. But it seems like you’ve developed an affinity for our uh… more lunarly challenged friends.” Jadeite smiled in a way Zoisite would have definitely called  _ wolfish _ . “We seem to be having a little bit of a doggy problem.”

Kunzite cleared his throat -- disapproving. 

Jadeite just barely rolled his eyes and added, “I’m  _ sorry _ . A  _ lycanthrope _ problem.”

“Japan has a very small subset of what you would consider ‘werewolves.’ They’re not  _ Ôkami _ or  _ Inugami _ . They would probably be easier classified as a hybrid. Much like the werewolves you’ve dealt with in London. They can be born, or they can be bitten, but their communities are quiet and hard to track, and they are rarely, if ever, a problem,” Kunzite clarified.

Zoisite sat for a second, absorbing this information. Despite himself, he let out a small, disbelieving chuckle.

“No werewolf can be  _ born _ ,” he said. “Even the Ainu, who are supposed to be descended from a white wolf, have next to no instances of lycanthropy in modern day… much less by birth.”

“Well,” Kunzite began, carefully folding his hands in front of him. There was a smug finality to the gesture. “There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”

“It’s mostly the women,” said Jadeite. 

“Wha-- Okay. Let’s backtrack just a wee bit,” said Zoisite. He pinched the bridge of his nose, but it did little to ward off the headache that was beginning to pound away at the base of his skull. “What does any of this have to do with Agent Pyrite?”

“We have reason to believe that Agent Pyrite was conspiring with a group of werewolves. They probably helped him escape the compound. He stole files and artifacts, and another agent was killed,” Kunzite explained. “Desertion is enough for punishment, but he also took classified information. Information that, we believe, he also removed from our digital files. We need to know what Pyrite and the lycanthropes might want with it and why it was removed. With a death factored in… Normally, he’d be shot on sight, but--”

“But we need to know where the files are that he took,” Jadeite interjected. “We also need the artifacts back. We’re on a bit of a time crunch here.  _ Tsukimi  _ will be held soon.”

“ _ Tsukimi _ ? I’m sorry. I don’t know that word in this context,” said Zoisite.

“It’s sort of a mid-autumn festival honoring the harvest moon. Not the best night for us, considering,” said Jadeite. “You can understand the urgency considering we’re about, oh--” He looked up at the ceiling, counting in his head. “Seven weeks away? Seems like a lot of time until you consider we’re coming up on  _ Obon _ . And then the sturgeon moon. I’m sure you know how it is. And these guys aren’t exactly easy to find. They’re even harder to find when our resources are stretched thin.”

“Which is what you want me for.”

“No one here has managed to build the kind of rapport we need to locate Pyrite and bring him back. Preferably alive,” said Jadeite. “So, yes. That’s what we need you for.”

They had to be lying.  _ They’re taking the piss out of me _ , he thought. 

Zoisite held in another sigh. He held it in so long that it started to hurt, and it let it go in one big whoosh out his nose. Something about this put a sour taste in his mouth, but could he refuse? Not really. If you were given an assignment, you took it unless you were incapacitated or had the seniority to delegate it to someone else. And these werewolves…  _ Born _ werewolves. 

“Then, I suppose you’ve got me,” Zoisite said instead. He let his fingers splay over the file folders, letting them squeak across the table top as he pulled them closer. At least the room was cold. The vent felt like it was pumping air directly from Antarctica, but at least it was keeping him awake. If only just barely. “But if you want my full attention, I’ll be needing some decent tea.”

Jadeite smiled that wide, toothy smile again. “I’m sure we can manage that.”


End file.
